Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Chapter Four
“You need something?”
Sophie looked at the new cook she had hired blankly. She had never been so mortified in her whole life, and she’d experienced some standout embarrassing moments.
“No, I was going …” Since she was standing next to the refrigerator, she opened the door. “I wanted to get more creamer,” she invented the excuse quickly.
“I told you business would pick up once everyone saw the diner was open again,” George wheezed out.
“Yes, you did.”
Three customers weren’t going to keep the lights on, but hopefully, as more people in town heard the diner was reopened, business would improve.
She took the box of creamers from the refrigerator and went back through the swinging door. After placing the creamers in the small refrigerator under the coffee station, she picked up the coffee pot to refill her customers’ cups.
“Ready to order?”
The elderly man ordered a breakfast sampler.
Sophie inwardly groaned. She really needed to redo the menus she had found from the previous restaurant. The different foods offered on the breakfast sampler were just more chances for the cook to fail. She had meant to create a new menu last night, but she had been so tired by the time she made it back to her apartment that she decided washing her clothes was more of a priority.
At least the second day of opening the restaurant was going smoother than yesterday.
The opening had been a disaster from beginning to end. George, who she had hired after placing an ad in the town’s newspaper for a cook, was just getting used to going back to work, she told herself. It wasn’t like she had much choice in hiring him, since George had been the only person who applied. When he told her that he used to work at the diner before Marty bought it, she had hired him immediately. That was her first mistake. She should have tested his cooking skills.
The mistake had become apparent when she’d started getting complaints about the food from the few customers she served yesterday. Undercooked bacon, burnt biscuits, and what George had done to the meatloaf to make it taste so bad was a mystery she never wanted to solve.
To make matters worse, she was operating on a string-shoe budget until her mother and stepfather could move to Treepoint to help out.
At least, this morning she hadn’t had any complaints about the food. She now wished she had hired a waitress instead of a cook—she couldn’t do any worse at cooking than George. Once her parents arrived, her mother would take over the kitchen and her stepfather could help with the front of the restaurant. If she could survive financially until they got here in three weeks, and right now, the possibility of the restaurant supporting all three of them looked bleak.
She loved being a waitress. She had basically been raised in a variety of different restaurants. Her mom had told her that when she and Marty were married, she had placed a playpen in the kitchen of their restaurant. After her divorce, she taught her to sit out of way, at a table to play. She had grown up pretending to wait on customers until she was old enough to perform simple tasks to help out. How many years had she dreamed of owning her own restaurant, with her family working alongside her?
She wasn’t going to give up that dream without a fight.
There was a downside to waitressing—she learned more about customers’ lives than she wanted to know. Yesterday, she had overheard one of them telling her friend that she was going to leave her husband. It didn’t seem right she was privy to that information before her husband. Today, listening to a woman being dumped and witnessing her reaction had been hard. Sadly, she had been in her place a time or two.
Sophie could understand why the woman appeared so devasted. The man who was dumping her was so hot she was shocked his ass hadn’t set his chair on fire. It was everything she could do to close her mouth before approaching their table. Men who looked like him should be considered a fire hazard.
He was built like a linebacker, the material of his T-shirt straining to cover his biceps and chest. His girlfriend was no slouch, either, dressed as if she were about to go the gym. The black workout top she wore under her jacket had shown a sleekly toned midriff and pert breasts surpassing of her bra. Sophie had stared at the woman’s generous display in envy. And not for the first time did she consider getting breast implants.
Her girls weren’t totally lacking, but they weren’t va-va vroom, either. Just once she wanted to be va-va vroom. Her friend, Talia, was without trying. Sophie had complained to her on more than one occasion, mainly when they were drunk off their asses. She had to work to be a va; she inspired to be a va-va. To be a va-va vroom, she would have to go to one of those expensive plastic surgeons in California. Talia was a natural va-va vroom, and if she weren’t so nice, Sophie would hate her.